


White Winter Snippet

by Nowhere_Asterisk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader Insert, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 20:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16562783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nowhere_Asterisk/pseuds/Nowhere_Asterisk
Summary: It's 6 weeks to Christmas, have a fluffy fraction of a story that maybe will be expanded on.





	White Winter Snippet

It's bitterly cold. Each inhale feels like a light jab to the lungs. There is a scent in the air that can only be described as winter. Sam once explained to you what that scent actually is - something about slow-moving odor molecules and residual wood smoke from nearby houses. There is no moon, and no significant light pollution, allowing the wide, cloudy band of the Milky Way to slash through the millions of stars in the sky.

Even through the layers of wool and down, Castiel is a warm, solid presence against your back. His arms circle around your waist, large palms resting over your ribs. 

“Must be nice,” you comment idly “being able to wear the same get up whether you’re in Fiji in July or Maine in February.”

“I’m aware of the cold.” He rumbles near your ear. Cas is just tall enough to fit his chin comfortably on top of your head but has chosen to duck with his chin on your shoulder, stubble grazing the skin exposed between your scarf and hat. “Just as I’m aware of the heat and humidity. I choose not to let it effect my vessel.”

“That’s what I mean, sneaky angel tricks!” You huff and shudder. Taking a reprieve from hunting to see the Northern Lights in Maine with Castiel and the Winchesters had seemed like such a good idea when it was mentioned in the blistering heat and miserable dust of Nevada. After taking out a nest of chupacabras - which required spending days tracking them through the desert, and resulted in sand getting in every crevice - the prospect of Christmas and New Years in a state with nary a sandstorm had sounded divine. Heh.

Divine like the six feet of sweet, gorgeous, and seriously beefy angel that you’re currently wrapped up in.

There’s a crunching sound as Sam and Dean walk up the snow-covered driveway from the cabin to the ridge. Dean chortles as he approaches, outstretched hand holding a steaming mug of what smells like cocoa. “Aw, aren’t you two cute - a snow angel and a meat popsicle.”

Taking the offered cocoa, you manage the best frozen-eyelash glare that you can.

“Careful, that concoction is only about 50% cocoa” Sam offers helpfully, passing Dean a flask.

Lowering your scarf to take a hesitant sip, you confirm your suspicion that the other 50% of the drink is peppermint schnapps.


End file.
